Chapter 9 - The Flood and the Fall
CRACK-SWOOSH!
The heavy brass pipe ruptured violently under three hundred pounds of pressure. A roaring wall of high-pressure water erupted from the wall, blasting straight into the main electrical distribution box.
Instantly, blue electrical arcs exploded through the gloom with deafening SNAP-CRACKLE sounds. Thousands of volts of electricity surged through the water, short-circuiting the master control panel and frying the digital receiver for Moretti’s detonator in a cloud of thick, white sparks.
"Now!" Salvatore roared.
Before Moretti could comprehend what was happening, the blinding flash of the short circuit combined with the wall of spray rendered his men completely helpless. Salvatore’s team moved in with terrifying speed and precision.
Suppressors popped in short, controlled bursts—thwip, thwip, thwip.
Moretti’s armed thugs dropped to the wet concrete one by one, their weapons clattering uselessly into the rising pool of water. Within fifteen seconds, the entire threat was neutralized.
Moretti panicked, dropping the useless dead-man switch and scrambling back toward his van. He pulled a compact pistol from his coat, his hands shaking violently as he tried to rack the slide.
Salvatore stepped out of the water and smoke like a specter of vengeance. He reached out with one massive hand, grabbed Moretti by the throat, and slammed him face-first against the hood of the black delivery van.
The pistol clattered onto the wet floor.
"You tried to take my family's legacy," Salvatore growled into Moretti’s ear, his voice lower than the rumble of the dying generators. "You tried to murder an innocent woman and her child. You are finished, Dominic."
"Please... Salvatore... wait!" Moretti choked out, his eyes wide with absolute terror as he stared down the barrel of Salvatore’s gun. "We can make a deal! Half my territory! Half my ports!"
Salvatore didn't answer with words. He looked over his shoulder at Delia, who was standing beside the broken pipe, dripping wet, holding her wrench like a shield, her eyes steady and unyielding.
"The time for deals is over," Salvatore said quietly.
He didn't fire the gun. Instead, Marco stepped forward, slapping heavy steel federal handcuffs onto Moretti’s wrists.
"Federal agents and state police are waiting outside," Salvatore said coldly, stepping back as his men dragged the writhing crime boss away. "The crates in your vans are filled with stolen military hardware. You won't be dying today, Dominic. You will be spending the rest of your natural life in a six-by-eight cell in a federal penitentiary."
As the police sirens began to wail in the street above, signaling the end of Moretti’s empire, the heavy basement quieted down. The water level had settled around their ankles.
Salvatore walked over to Delia. He took off his dry wool coat—which had remained miraculously unsoaked—and draped it gently over her dripping wet shoulders.
"You broke my plumbing," he said, a soft, rare warmth touching his hardened face.
Delia let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. "I told you I knew the building."
Salvatore looked down at her, taking both of her cold, wet hands into his warm ones. "You saved my life tonight, Delia. Again."
May you like
"We saved each other," she whispered back, looking up into his blue eyes.
For the first time in seven long, agonizing years, the crushing weight in Delia’s chest completely dissolved. The terror of the dark road, the guilt of the old car crash, the constant fear of poverty—it all seemed to melt away in the warm light of the casino basement. She didn't need to walk away anymore. She had finally arrived.
